Into the Black
by brood saint
Summary: Riku sinks into the darkness of himself, but the body is foreign and he is no longer in control. Pre-KH2, centered around Riku's possession. Abstract drabbles following no set plot line. Mostly Riku drifting within the confines of himself.
1. you yourself dying

A/N: This doesn't really follow any set storyline. Mostly, Riku's possessed by Ansem, battling Ansem, but also stuck within... himself. So it's sort of reflection, sort of abstract. Riku doesn't get enough props, really. he's an angstmuffin, but it must be hard to have a crazed demon guy inside of himself. And yeah, I know, Ansem's not Ansem, he's Xehanort, but I'm going to say that this is pre-KH2 and maybe Riku's not quite privy to who's specifically possessing him, more that just somebody _is._ Read and review please.

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_i. This is you, and you're dying a little bit every day…_

Riku sinks into the darkness of himself, a warm tepid bath, but the body is foreign and he is no longer in control. Somehow, looking back on things, he wonders briefly why he had trusted the cloaked monster with a velvet-soft voice, cruelty notwithstanding – and why he put so much stock in the shadows.

Somehow, looking back on things…Riku doesn't know if it matters. Not really. Every hero needs a villain. It only just so happens that in _this _story, the Keyblade Master's arch nemesis is his former best friend turned possessed psychopath. Riku isn't crazy about the role, but he's also out of the game. Not his choice anymore. He's merely a vessel. He sits back and watches Sora tear at his own body, fight blade for blade – metal clinking and Riku wonders, so proudly, how Sor got to be so _fast_, so _strong,_ wasn't it only yesterday he was tripping over his own (big) two feet – and although he screams at every gash cutting his flesh, although he's aching for his hands to stop, for his legs to flee, nothing works. A vessel, a pawn, _there's no space for both of us here,_ a voice chuckles, and Riku only partially understands…

He let this happen, he knows this. Riku walked towards the inky black – swirls of purple and the darkest of blues, colors so magnificent that _anyone _could have faltered (not true he screams because only him and no one else and why was he the weak one this time?) and he had trusted so deeply that _this _was the door to somewhere. Somewhere great, somewhere important. This was his ticket away from that godforsaken island and his horrible father and his mild, ignorant mother and _this_ was the way to freedom. He'd had his fair share of experience with shadows. The stretch of night against the sandy floor didn't scare him. The welt on his back had throbbed, urging him forward, and after so many beatings taken, he knew that _nothing_ could be worse than…

It had been worse. Riku lamented – he had been wrong (naturally) and the suffering taken at the hands of a power-driven madman, hell-bent on possessing his body… A fourteen-year-old hardly stood a chance. He had been stubborn, fought to the very end, but there had been an end. He had lost control. Out of the game. Just a vessel now, standing by in the puppet theatre, playing silent audience while Sora demanded what had happened to him…

_Well, _Riku thought it had been obvious. No one else did. Small favors apparently lost on his life.

At least it's warm – this stretch of onyx, burrowing itself deep into himself like a disease. It feels like dark summer, and it keeps him comfortable if nothing else. _There's no space for both of us, _the voice reminds him and Riku quietly agrees. He gave up his willpower so long ago; hanging onto to his spirit is becoming tenuous. No point. Every hero needs…

Yes. A vessel. And soon, probably less than that. He sinks into the depths of himself, his body (but not really) taken over, and he feels it… this is what's wrong, he mutely informs Sora. This is me, and this is me slipping away.

Out in the real world, Riku screams.


	2. this cute hope thing

_ii. This hope thing you had going for you – it was cute until it was pointless._

Ansem holds out his hand and whispers, "_Release_."  
Maleficent waves her staff and screams, "_Release_."  
The darkness surges and shifts, and it murmurs, "_Release._"

Let go, Riku. Stop holding on. It's not your body any more – who are you kidding yourself? Possession doesn't mean playing silent ghost in your own head. It means giving up. You sold out, the game of poker is over, and you've lost _everything_. Too bad, really. You had _such_ potential. Who knows? You probably could've been the mighty Keyblade Master instead of the pointy-haired twerp. Oh well. C'est la vie. Someone has to lose, and you were such an easy target. Welcome to the sin-game, my friend. Ante-up.

He can't he can't he can't. I've lost everything, don't you understand? I'm a floating nothingness. I have _no _existence. What the hell do you want me to bet?

But it doesn't matter. Playing card games with the shadows culminates to a petty zilch. Like screaming in a vacuum. No point. Just passing the time – he has lots of that. Too much. All this time is tying itself around his neck and hanging there, suffocating him. Dragging him down.

You disgust me, Riku screams.  
The black grins. _Good._ You should start getting used to the feeling.

Royal flush. He loses and passes bits of himself back into the pot. More soul to bet. The darkness shrugs. Anyway, you should get used to disappointment. _I'm going to be here forever and you have nowhere else to be._


End file.
